


Love is Terrible

by happybeans



Series: Bar is Terrible verse [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: DadDevil, Friendship, M/M, Matt Murdock pov, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Wholesome Fun, almost forgot Pining, devildad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 19:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21104999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: “You’re nervous,” Matt says, shaking his head.“Wha—“Lowering his voice, Matt continues, “Spider-Man is nervous about a girl.”“Hey, shh—““Nobody’s listening.”-----------------------Peter comes to Matt for love advice. Matt tries and fails not to think about his own feelings for his law partner, Foggy.Could be read as a stand-alone fic.





	Love is Terrible

**Author's Note:**

> In case any of you are new to Matt Murdock, a quick summary: he's blind, his other senses are crazy enhanced, he's Catholic, he's a lawyer, and he moonlights as the vigilante Daredevil, "the man without fear". Enjoy!

“So, here’s what I wanna know,” Foggy says, lying his pieces down onto the board. “Where and when the hell did you get that fantastic shirt? Quail.”

“Oh, good one,” Matt murmurs, feeling the board to get an idea for where Foggy’s pieces are.

Thing is, though, that he’s biting his lip softly while pointedly pointing his head right at the board. So this is more than just his average Scrabble-contemplation; this is stalling.

Oh, Foggy can hardly keep from outright rubbing his hands together. This one’s gotta be good.

Two days prior...

Feeling at his watch, Matt hums, waiting patiently for his coffee. He’s not trying to be "That Customer", but it’s Saturday and he’s tired, and he has a lot he wants to get done today.

Then, because His Plan pays no mind to Matt’s ideas, all thoughts of penal codes go flying out the metaphorical window when a not-so stranger comes flying through the door.

“Finally!” he hears the person say under their breath.

Then the teenager—because it’s clearly a teenage boy, based on the axe deodorant and lingering beef jerky smell—feigns surprise, saying: “Oh, hey there, Matt! Fancy meeting you here.”

Matt sighs quietly, though he’s unable to stop a 50/50 smirk-smile from pulling onto his face.

“Peter?” he asks, even though he knows it’s him.

“Yeah, how’s it going?” Peter says as he walks over. He stands in front of Matt and fidgets, likely rocking around on his heels based on the faint rubber squeak.

“Well, thanks,” Matt says automatically. He twists to grab his coffee from the barista, thanking her before turning back to Peter. “You’re up early.”

“Am I?” Peter asks, as if he truly hadn’t known the time. “Well, you know me. Just out for my morning—you know, like, coffee and stuff.”

Knowing Peter, even only as much as he does, Matt would never willingly give the kid coffee.

“Like, coffee and stuff?” Matt asks. Mocking, but only just a little.

“Yeah,” Peter says, not realizing Matt sees right through him. Figuratively speaking. Then, as if the acting wasn’t hilarious enough already, Peter continues with seriousness: “Gotta get my morning cup of Joe.”

Matt smiles, careful to hold in his laughter. Peter’s a good kid.

“Let’s go, then,” Matt says, gesturing to the line. Thankfully it’s shorter than when Matt came in; otherwise he truly would be here all day.

“Oh, right, yeah,” Peter says, hesitating before they start walking over.

They stand quietly in line, Peter likely studying the board and Matt studying Peter.

It’s obvious that Peter sought Matt out today, though for what, he can’t be sure. It stands out that he was looking for Matt, not Daredevil. Either this is urgent and can’t wait until night-fall or this is a personal matter.

He doesn’t even know which would be the preferable option.

Peter hums, and Matt takes a sip of his coffee. The strangers around them are chatting about their weeks, about their weekend plans. It's a quiet morning.

“So, what’d you get?” Peter asks, still facing forward.

“A cappuccino,” Matt says. “You probably wouldn’t like it; it’s not very sweet.”

“Good to know,” Peter says, tapping his finger against a bony part of his face. Maybe his cheek or chin.

The barista calls for the next guest—them—and Peter orders an iced coffee with a frankly terrifying amount of caramel and sugar. And Matt thought Foggy drank his coffee sweet.

“Decaf,” Matt tacks on to the order, still too asleep to be able to handle a caffeinated Peter Parker. Then, holding out a hand when Peter rifles for his own wallet, he tells him: “I’ve got it.” He ignores Peter’s protests and orders a blueberry muffin for him, too.

“I totally could’ve paid for myself,” Peter tells him as they walk to the side to wait.

Matt "accidentally" holds the bag with the muffin out directly in Peter’s face.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, holding back a smirk when Peter huffs a laugh, taking the crinkly paper bag. “Want me to grab you a straw?”

“I’m good,” Peter says, reaching over to grab one from the cup himself. Smart choice. Maybe next time Matt will poke him with one anyway. Agh, next time.

“So,” Matt says, “You’re pretty far from home.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter says. “Just out for a walk. You know. I’m glad I ran into you, though...I actually had something I wanted to ask you. If you’re not busy, anyway.”

“I have time,” Matt lies. Well, it’s kinda true; he has time so long as he works overtime to do all his work tomorrow. It’s do-able, so. He has time. “Should we go back to the office?”

Should we go somewhere private? Is this a vigilante-matter?

“No, it’s okay,” Peter says, and his heart speeds up a bit. “It’s actually more like a personal thing.”

Ah, damn. Turns out that is the worse option.

“Alright,” he says. He pauses when the barista takes a breath behind them and allows her to call out Peter’s order before saying, “Should we walk?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” Peter says, thanking the barista then stabbing his straw through the lid.

They leave the coffee shop and Peter starts walking them East. Back towards Queens perhaps? Oh, or Bryant Park. Smart thinking.

“So,” Peter stalls, drawing it out so it’s more like "soooooooooooo". “How’s work? How’s life? What’s new?”

Oh, Matt. How do you get yourself into these situations?

“Not bad,” he says, small-talking with the fifteen year-old. Not that he minds Peter, good kid, yadda-yadda. He just had things to do today, and now he’s doing this instead.

But okay. That’s the last time he’ll complain about it. Time to move on.

“Work’s been going well; we’ve had a fairly steady flow of clients, so that’s been keeping us busy.” He shrugs then sips some of his cappuccino—and at least he still has that—then says: “That’s about it. Not a very exciting life.”

“Right,” Peter says, lips curled around the word and nudging Matt with his elbow.

Matt just huffs a laugh, "luckily" skipping a step and "just happening" to avoid a piece of gum.

“What about you?” Matt asks. “You keeping up with your school work?”

Obviously when Matt first met Peter as Spider-Man he didn’t approve. Kid’s too young to be on the streets like Matt—not that that will stop him.

In the end, it’s more reasonable to help the kid and give him pointers than to try to force him out.

If Peter were to decide to drop school to be a vigilante, though...God help him, Matt would just disintegrate on the spot. Full-on ash-mode.

And clearly those are the exact words Matt used to get through to Peter when the kid seemed to almost consider it. Agh.

“You know I am,” Peter says, foot skidding across the ground and colliding with something plastic. “Remember that essay I was telling you about last time? I aced it.”

Matt smiles. “Good for you.”

“I know, right? Good stuff.” They’re both quiet for a second, and Peter’s heart-rate speeds up. Oh, boy. Here we go.

“So, you know I wanted to ask you something,” he says, wary-toned.

“Right.”

“Well...okay. So. This is gonna be awkward, so prepare yourself.”

“...I am prepared.”

Another beat. And then: “I need some dating advice.”

WHY?!

“Dating advice?! Peter, what?” Matt actually trips. Thankfully it’s one of those casual-trips, one that he’s able to recover from with a smooth next couple of steps.

“Look, I know it’s weird, but there’s this girl, yeah? And—“

“Peter,” Matt deadpans. When he said "ask me if you ever need anything," he meant more like homework or vigilante stuff. God help him.

“Matt,” he deadpans back, though slightly whinier. “C'mon, just help me out.”

“Why don’t you just ask your Aunt? She’s a girl,” Matt points out, only realizing once it’s past his lips how dumbass that remark is. But he rolls with it.

“I did!” Peter says. He’s moving around like a gorilla, stooping down low then coming back up in some weird, dramatic display. It’s a good thing they’re just about in the park. There’s no way the tiny street sidewalks could handle this for long.

“I totally asked her,” Peter says, “But her advice...look, her and my uncle were married for, like, thirteen years, and both of them were equally terrible with the whole flirting thing apparently. They used to tell me the worst stories. It just won’t work.”

Hhaaaaagh, Peter, why?

“Okay, that’s—but why me?”

“Aw, come on, Matt,” Peter says, dragging his feet. “Look, it’s just—you’re probably the most qualified person I know.”

“And why is that?” Matt asks. His voice is breathy, wary and resigned, but Peter doesn’t seem to notice anything’s off.

“Mr. Foggy said you’ve dated tons of people.” Matt casually chokes on his sip of coffee. “That means you must be pretty good at it.”

Matt coughs, head pointed towards his elbow and the coffee safe over his head. Peter’s got some flawed logic there, but Matt’s sure not gonna be the one to tell him.

He will need to have a word with Foggy, though. Ah, classic Foggy.

“I suppose you have a point,” Matt says. He swallows to make sure there’s no coffee left to choke on then continues, “I’ll do my best, though I can’t promise my advice will be any good.”

“No, you’ll do great,” Peter brushes off. They walk through the gate of the park then, and it’s almost like accepting the door he’s opened.

Okay, Matt. This is your life now. Get over it.

“Okay,” he says. Yeah, why not? “So, explain what we’re working with here. This girl. What’s her name? What’s she like?”

“Her name is Michelle, but she goes by MJ. And she’ll totally kill you if you ever call her Michelle,” Peter emphasizes, as though Matt will ever meet this girl. “She’s really cool. And scary. But sweet.”

“And what does MJ like to do?”

“Uhh, well.” He blushes so hard Matt feels it in the air. “That’s half of the problem.”

Lord, why do you test him so. But thankfully:

“Oh! Art! She’s always drawing.”

“Well, there you go,” Matt says, raising his cup in the air. “Take her to the Met.”

They walk past a couple obnoxiously making out on a park bench, and Peter makes an accurate and relatable "blegh" noise.

“I promise we won’t be like that,” he says quietly, and Matt snorts a laugh. Then a soft wind comes over when Peter rustles around. “It can’t be that easy, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well...” Peter kicks a leg out on his next step, scraping the ground. “I don’t know! It just can’t! That’s Parker Luck for ya.”

“Parker Luck isn’t a thing,” Matt says.

“That’s what you think.”

Matt rolls his eyes, taking another sip of his coffee. “So what’s really the problem here?” he asks. Clearly it’s not just lack of ideas; there’s something else at play.

“What do you mean?”

Matt barely holds back the groan in the back of his throat. Play it cool. Play it—

He laughs instead. “You’re nervous,” he says, shaking his head.

“Wha—“

Lowering his voice, Matt continues, “Spider-Man is nervous about a girl.”

“Hey, shh—“

“Nobody’s listening,” Matt says. As if he’d put them, in Peter’s words, "on blast" like that.

Peter’s quiet for a moment. Then, petulantly, he says, “You sound like Ned.”

Ned. That’s Peter’s Foggy—well. Whatever. Moving on:

“Kid,” Matt says. He smacks a bench with his cane, signaling for them to sit, and once they’re situated, he says, “You fought a giant alligator-man the other week—“

“You heard about that?”

“What is there to fear here?”

Peter lets out a long, drawn out, and melodramatic sigh. He starts slow, saying: “It’s just...ugh. She’s so cool, you know? How do you ask somebody out when you know they’ll say no?”

If you ever figure it out, Peter, please let Matt know. Please.

“Well, you don’t know she’ll say no until you try,” Matt points out, like a hypocrite. He leans back against the bench, pulling his coat closer to him.

“I’m pretty sure she will,” Peter says.

“But you haven’t tried it yet. So you can’t know for sure.”

“True, but I really think she will.”

This conversation’s getting nowhere.

“Okay, so you don’t ask her out, then,” Matt says with a shrug.

“Hey, wait, no. I don’t want to not ask her out, either.”

“So to get this straight,” Matt starts. A businesswoman across the way is having a tough conversation, too. “You don’t want to ask her out, but you don’t want to not ask her out, either.”

Matt catches Peter’s nod. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

Matt hums. Lose-lose situation right there. “Are you too old for passing notes?”

“What, like those ‘check yes or no’ things? Yeah, no, those are only a thing for elementary schoolers, I think.”

“And that’s not you?” Matt asks innocently.

“Ha-ha,” Peter says, flat-toned.

Matt finishes the final few swallows of his coffee, hearing Peter sip the end of his, too.

“How are you drinking iced coffee?” Matt asks. “It’s nearly winter.”

Peter rustles around as he stands and makes an “I don’t know” noise. “It’s good,” he says.

Matt shrugs. If you say so, kid.

“Hey, Matt, call me Kobe,” Peter says suddenly, running off to the side.

“What?”

“Kobe. C’mon, call me Kobe.”

Matt rolls his eyes with a snort. “Kobe,” he deadpans, but Peter whoops anyway, slamming his cup into a metal trash can. “Hey, Kobe, you mind throwing this away too?” he asks, shaking his empty cappuccino cup.

Peter laughs but runs over to do so.

Grabbing his cane, Matt pushes to stand up, meeting Peter on his way back.

They start walking, turning southwards out of the park and continuing on randomly. Well, semi-randomly. It’s cold. Matt’s in the mood for some soup. Sue-p him. Haha. He'll pretend the laugh from a few feet away is meant for him.

They walk along for a couple hundred feet. Then Peter sighs, saying quietly, “It’s just hard.”

And Matt gets it. More than perhaps anybody else, he gets it.

He nods, because as cathartic as it would be to get it off his chest, he’s not unloading his love woes onto a fifteen year-old.

“You should just ask her,” he says truthfully. “It’s better than not knowing.”

Peter’s quiet for a second. He takes a breath like he’s going to speak then stops. Then he starts again: “Matt, do you have somebody?”

“Ah—“ He feels his face color red. “No. I don’t.”

But his heart skips a beat, and he knows that with their proximity, Peter hears it.

Peter’s heart-rate instantly increases. “Omg,” he says. “Matt, you have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?”

Letting out a breathy laugh, Matt says, “No, I don’t.”

“But you want one.”

Kid makes connections too fast. He’d almost be proud if it weren’t so inconvenient.

“No,” Matt says, not caring that Peter can tell it’s a lie. Matt’s the one who taught him to detect lies by sound. He’s the only one to blame for this. “We’re talking about you here. Don’t change the subject.”

“Um, Matt, you’re the one who’s changing the subj—“

“Oops!”

Matt throws his cane on the ground, hands poised in the air as if it were an accident.

The other pedestrians behind him grumble and move around them as Peter and Matt both bend down to pick it up.

But as they’re low to the ground, Matt whispers, “Listen,” and he hears Peter draw in a breath in response.

One solitary heartbeat, strong and likely belonging to an older adult man, is pounding away a couple hundred feet ahead. Agoraphobia is Matt’s first thought; the man’s afraid of the crowd. But then he hears him speaking into the buzzing Bluetooth piece in his ear:

“—ater this week...yeah, Thursday. You know the place.”

They straighten up, following along quietly, Matt silencing his cane’s rapping by sliding it along the ground instead.

And Matt wouldn’t care about all this—really, this is pretty far from home—but then the man mentions Hell’s Kitchen, and the amount of money to be made there. Yeah, there’s a pretty big vacuum. This was intentional.

And if it were drugs, he really wouldn’t give a shit. It’s fine. Most people aren’t shitheads about it, and if they are, then Daredevil takes care of them individually.

Except Matt and Peter both hear the word “ammunition” thrown around, and that just won’t do. Not at all.

“What do we do?” Peter whispers, and Matt shrugs.

“We follow,” he says. “We gotta figure out what’s going on.”

They head South, walking straight through Madison Square Park. And they learn a lot of bullshit about this man.

He doesn’t like ziti, he prefers Alfredo sauce, bread with olive oil is better than bread with butter. The person on the other line has some strong opinions on it, it would seem. At least everyone’s in agreement on the last one.

Matt doesn’t give a damn about this guy’s lunch order. Ugh, his job.

But even though the conversation doesn’t change from its current time-waste, Matt does pick something up. With his gaydar sense.

Okay, that was dumb, he’ll admit. No, he obviously doesn’t have a literal gaydar sense, but Matt’s pretty bi, and that voice doesn’t lie. If he’s wrong, go ahead and call him a stereotyping asshole for it.

It’s once they’ve entered Union Park that the man finds a bench to sit on, and Matt gestures for Peter to hold back and listen while he makes the move.

“Yeah, yeah, extra cheese, extra tomatoes,” the man says.

Matt switches back to tapping his cane, putting a little more force in it than normal for attention, and walks to the bench. He sits down on the other end of it and the man wraps up his phone conversation.

Once it’s been silent for a moment, Matt turns his head to the man, offering his most charming smile and saying, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” the man says, and Matt can hear his intrigue. “It is.”

His “gaydar” is right, and after a fair amount of flirtation (and gagging on Peter’s end), Matt scores a name and number.

He bids a farewell then continues South, hearing Peter follow from behind.

A block and a half later, Peter finally catches up, and Matt smirks.

“Dude, that was kinda badass,” Peter says animatedly.

“Language,” Matt scolds then immediately feels like he’s become one of the nuns. He coughs, but thankfully Peter found it normal.

“Sorry,” he says. Then: “Y’know, with skills like those, I feel like it’d be easy for you to pull your crush.”

Great. Back on topic.

“It’s not about that,” Matt says. Well, it’s kinda about that. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Drop it?”

Peter hums. “I don’t know...” he says. “I feel like—we both have the same problem here, right? So—“

“Peter.”

Peter’s mouth presses shut. After a moment, he quietly says: “I’m just trying to help.”

Matt draws in a slow breath then lets it out even slower, willing himself to be calm. Peter’s a good kid.

“You’re right,” he concedes. “I appreciate that. I just don’t like talking about it.”

“Aw, Matt,” Peter whines. “Have you given up hope?”

Matt attempts to give him a look from the corner of his eye. It must work because Peter says:

“Right. Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right.”

Peter skips for a couple of steps then says, “So, what’s the move?”

“The move?”

“Yeah. Like, the plan. The next step. What’s the move?”

“We keep walking this way,” Matt says.

“Ooh, a surprise? Nice!” They’re quiet for a couple of steps, then Peter says, “So, wanna hear about this new assignment that I’m dying over?”

Matt smiles. “Let’s hear it.”

They get to the ramen shop many assignments later, and Peter holds the door for Matt then bounces through himself.

“Woah, it smells super good in here,” he says to Matt under his breath, and Matt nods. It really does. Makes the walk worth it.

“Hello, two?” the hostess asks then seats them after their affirmative.

Matt hums, considering, then ultimately passes his burner phone over to Peter.

“You seem like a texter,” Matt says. “Mind helping me with this?”

“I would be honored,” Peter says seriously, hand over his heart. He picks up the phone and hums.

“Johannsson, right?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Don’t send anything yet,” Matt warns. “Let’s get in agreement first.”

“Yeah, okay. That’s what I was planning on doing anyway. So... How about a ‘what’s up’?”

Matt shakes his head. “Too informal. Plus, he doesn’t have my number yet. Let’s start with that.”

“True, true. Okay, so: ‘Hey, it’s Matt! Great meeting you today.’ That good?”

Matt considers, tilting his head. “Pretty good. Drop the exclamation point, though. Don’t want to sound too excited.”

“Mysterious. I like it. Okay, sent.”

The waitress comes around then, and Matt orders some green tea for himself, a bubble tea for Peter, and two bowls of ramen, one small and one large.

“Psst,” Peter says once the waitress has left, “he texted back.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“He—woof. He said ‘You, too’.”

“Not a lot to work with there, huh?”

“Yeah, yikes.”

Matt leans back in his chair and hears Peter do the same. “Alright. Is it too obvious to just ask what his plans are for the week?”

“Hmm...seems risky.”

Matt sighs, accepting his fate. “Ask him when I can see him next.”

“Woah, dude!” Whispering, Peter continues, “You really are 'the man without fear'. I could never.”

“And you will never,” Matt says, pointing. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

He hears Peter nod seriously then say: “Yes, sir. Sent.”

Their teas arrive then, and Matt sits back to let his cool, unwillingly listening to Peter pop the tapioca pearls in his mouth.

“Hey, want a sip?” Peter asks, and Matt has to pretend he appreciates the offer when he declines. Yuck.

This text comes a couple of minutes later. The phone vibrates, and Peter practically vibrates with it.

“Oh, he said Monday.”

“Monday... Ask if he can do evening.”

Matt has work on weekdays. It’d suck to have to skip for Daredevil-related purposes. Again.

“What’s the magic word?”

Snorting, Matt says, “Please.”

“That’s more like it.”

Their ramen arrives then, and Matt convinces Peter not to check the phone until they’ve finished.

“Alright, boom. He said evening works fine. Congrats! You have a date. See how easy that was?” Matt ignores the jab, so Peter continues, “We should get you an outfit.”

“You know, I’m not one of your teenage friends,” Matt points out, smiling to take the edge off of the “roast”. He takes a sip of his tea and adds, “I have appropriate clothes for a date.”

“Well, sure,” Peter says, “but this would be fun! C’mon, we passed a thrift store a couple blocks ago.”

Sounds terrible.

“Plus, I need new clothes for school. Buy me some clothes, Matt.”

Matt huffs a laugh. “Fine. But only for you.”

“I’ll get you to pick out a shirt for yourself, too,” Peter claims. “C’mon, let’s go!”

“Hey, wait, I have to pay first!”

“Oh. Right.”

Later...

“So what do you think of this one?”

Matt raises an eyebrow.

“I meant by feel, of course! Obviously.”

Based on how Peter’s face is heating up, that is not what he meant. Matt lets out a breathy laugh, feeling the shirt. It feels terrible.

“Sixty-percent cotton, forty-percent polyester,” he says, and Peter claps through the shirt in his hand.

“That is amazing,” he says. “Wow, thanks for actually buying me clothes,” he says. “You’re like my sugar daddy.”

Ugh, why?

“Peter,” he says, cringing. “Ew. Definitely not.”

“What? It was a joke!” His face heats up further but he pushes Matt softly saying, “I’m obviously just kidding. C’mon, your turn.”

“I’m not getting anything.”

He lets Peter pull him a bit further down the aisle anyways, silently accepting his fate.

“Red seems risky,” Peter says, screeching a hanger out of the way. Whether he means in general or because of Daredevil, Matt doesn’t ask. “So. It’s Mr. Foggy, right?”

Matt coughs, choking on his own spit.

“Thought so,” Peter says over the coughing.

Matt swallows then starts: “How did you—“

“It was just a guess,” Peter says, shrugging. “You guys have known each other for a while and whatnot. I kinda thought you were a thing when I first met him and Ms. Karen, actually.”

That’s...okay, then.

“It’s really no big deal,” Peter continues. “He has strong bisexual energies. I think he’d say yes.”

“He is bisexual,” Matt says, only telling Foggy’s business because he knows he’d be open with it. “I’m not afraid he’s straight or something.”

“Well, why not ask, then? It’s worth a shot, right?”

Matt’s quiet for a moment, mouth turned down and to the side.

“It’s complicated,” he says.

“I have time.”

Matt laughs. “I don’t. How’s that shirt coming along?”

Peter gets the hint, thankfully. “Hmm, well, there’s a lot of duds—Oh! Oh, this one is...”

Matt hears the hanger leave the rack as Peter holds the shirt up in front of him, envisioning Matt with it on.

Then Peter’s heartbeat speeds up. Oh, boy.

“This one is perfect,” Peter says, voice strained.

“What exactly are you dressing me in?” Matt asks, wary but smiling at what he knows must be a joke.

“It’s—uh, picture if it’s, like, the nineties and you’re about to go bowling with your friends. And you’re gay.”

A laugh is startled out of Matt. What a description.

“What—what color is it?” he asks.

“Right. It’s purple, like striped purples going vertically across it. But, um, it’s sparkly, too.”

Sparkly, stripey, and purple. And gay.

“Add it to the pile,” he says. He’ll consider whether he’s actually wearing the atrocity as the date nears.

“Sweet!”

It’s when they’ve started their walk back closer to each’s home that Peter beats the dead horse again. Thankfully he changes it up this time:

“So. I think I’m gonna ask MJ to go to the Met with me.”

“Good for you.”

“Yeah. Thanks for the advice. Sorry I kept bugging you earlier—and for calling you my sugar daddy. In public.”

Matt smiles, putting a hand on Peter’s head to pat it. “You weren’t bugging me,” he says. “And I’m always here to give you advice.”

“Or buy me ramen.”

“Or coffee,” Matt adds. Then he considers. “Provided that it’s decaf.”

Peter laughs. “Really, Matt, thanks. What do you... Let me know if I should drop it: do you think you’ll do anything about your crush?”

Crush. Ah, Peter. He can’t even be mad with wording like that.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe someday.”

“Wouldn’t it be good to know? That’s what I think, anyway.”

Matt shrugs. “You have a point,” he says. “Someday.”

Two days later…

Foggy watches as Matt shrugs. “Peter was with me when I met Johannsson,” he says. “He helped me pick it out.”

Foggy’s eyebrows draw together as Matt seems to hesitate. 

But then Matt says, “And that’s about it.” He smiles as he shrugs. “It’s been an eventful couple of days.”

Foggy shrugs, brushing off whatever he thought he saw. “I’ll say.”

He watches on fondly as Matt goes into his actual scrabble contemplation. 

Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> I should really be focusing on A Series of Unfortunate Dates right now. But, oh, I could not resist jamming out the ending to this one :D


End file.
